


The Gift

by Azashenya



Category: Original Work
Genre: Character Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2013-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-03 01:08:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1063860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azashenya/pseuds/Azashenya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two sides of a story:<br/>The chance to live for ever.  What parent wouldn't want that for their child?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gift

The chance to live for ever. What parent wouldn't want that for their child?

Our grandparents' generation saw the elimination of the last of the major diseases. Our life expediencies now are nearly four times that of their grandparents. Or children will never know what it is like to die of old age.

It was raining the day we picked up our darling Sophia from the clinic. She was so small, so beautiful, so vulnerable, and she was ours.

The doctors and scientists gave us manuals, told us she would develop slower than we might expect. We read everything they gave us but nothing could prepare us for five years of bottles, ten years of nappies. But for all of that she was our beautiful little angel.

None of our friends had been able to afford it and we watched them drift away as our little Sophia grew up so much slower than their children.

That was a hard time, a time that put so much stress on our marriage, but we managed to hold things together. We both wanted more children but we couldn't afford the fees and we knew that it wouldn't be fair on any of our children if we didn't give them all the gift that we gave Sophia.

Things got easier after we shifted to a neighbourhood with other families like our own. We found new friends, people we could share our worries and joys with. Other children that we could watch Sophia becoming friends with without having to worry about them out-growing her.

As she grew up we tried to prepare her to face our deaths. Tried to teach her to stay safe. Perhaps we tried too hard to keep her safe but we couldn't face the idea of something killing her when her potential for life was so great.

It was like time ran slower for her, she was still growing up when we could feel ourselves growing old. We fought that time difference to make sure she got an education, a broad, thorough education on which to base a long life.

Eventually we had to learn to do something all parents have to face. We had to let her go. We had to let our angel fly.

It was hard helping her to move out. It was hard and, in an odd way, it was freeing.

 

~~~~~

 

Today I was told that I am the oldest living human. That last part has been disputed more times than I can remember now but it is true. I was one of the first children born with the genetic manipulation designed to prolong life indefinitely. The other early ones are dead now, some by accident, some by their own hands, some by the hands of others and some by flaws in their initial genetic work.

When I was born there weren't more than a handful of long-lifers alive and no more than two of those were over a year old. Now there are barely more than a hundred short-lifers born each year, a few families still holding out against eternity.

I remember my parents calling it a gift, their gift to me. There have been many times that I've wished I could return that gift.

I remember when I was really little watching the other children growing taller than me, growing older than me. I envied them when I went through my slow puberty. I used to watch television and wonder what it would be like to be normal.

I don't think my parents ever understood me but I could tell that they tried, could tell that they loved me.

I watched them grow old, knew that they would die, but nothing could prepare me for the pain of losing them. For years I avoided their graves. Then, in the centuries after that, I made regular pilgrimages to them.

Less of us die now but less of us are born too. It has been years since I last saw a child.

I have had a daughter of my own, she's long grown now, of course. When I first held her in my arms I swore to myself that I would learn from my parents' mistakes. I don't think that I did too badly. Now that she is grown we can be friends and time will bring a balance to our relationship.

When I think of the things I have seen over the centuries, the things that I've learned, and when I think of all that might be to come I can't help but be grateful to my parents. Grateful for their faith and their sacrifice. And their gift.


End file.
